system of staying in touch. It always took Mom a few days to get back to
me, but when I heard from her, she sounded, as always, cheerful and
casual, as though we'd had lunch the day before. I told her I wanted to
see her and suggested she drop by the apartment, but she wanted to go to
a restaurant. She loved eating out, so we agreed to meet for lunch at her
favorite Chinese restaurant.
Mom was sitting at a booth, studying the menu, when I arrived. She'd
made an effort to fix herself up. She wore a bulky gray sweater with only
a few light stains, and black leather men's shoes. She'd washed her face,
but her neck and temples were still dark with grime.
She waved enthusiastically when she saw me. "It's my baby girl!" she
called out. I kissed her cheek. Mom had dumped all the plastic packets
of soy sauce and duck sauce and hot-and-spicy mustard from the table
into her purse. Now she emptied a wooden bowl of dried noodles into it
as well. "A little snack for later on," she explained.
We ordered. Mom chose the Seafood Delight. "You know how I love my
seafood," she said.
She started talking about Picasso. She'd seen a retrospective of his work
and decided he was hugely overrated. All the cubist stuff was gimmicky,
as far as she was concerned. He hadn't really done anything worthwhile
after his Rose Period.
"I'm worried about you," I said. "Tell me what I can do to help."
Her smile faded. "What makes you think I need your help?"
"I'm not rich," I said. "But I have some money. Tell me what it is you
need."
She thought for a moment. "I could use an electrolysis treatment."